


In Between

by AHardDaysNight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deathly Hallows AU, Gen, Limbo, four founders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:43:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHardDaysNight/pseuds/AHardDaysNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had found himself stuck in between reality and the afterlife with legendary Godric Gryffindor. Is he dead? Can he find a way home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Between

_I actually originally wrote this in early 2007 before Deathly Hallows came out. This was my hypothesis for the ending - it also fits into canon surprisingly well!_

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

The sound of chirping birds and babbling streams filled Harry’s ears as he regained consciousness. Dazed, he lazily opened one eye and then the other. The sight that greeted him was a pleasant one: the sky was a rich, cheerful blue, and the sun was happily providing light between the spacious forest around him. A tiny creek was flowing to his left where a unicorn was helping itself to the cool water. Harry shifted into a sitting position and folded his legs underneath him.   
Perking its ears forward, the unicorn spotted Harry, then trotted off.

Harry looked at his surroundings: he was in some sort of forest, but where? The last thing that he could recall was a rather intense duel with Lord Voldemort, and then absolute blackness took hold of him. 

Unsteadily, he brought himself to his feet. What had happened in the time that had elapsed? Was this one of Voldemort’s crude tricks? Did he even manage to defeat Voldemort? All the Horcruxes had been destroyed, and all that was left was for Harry to finish the man off. Had he?

Too many questions, Harry told himself. He would find the answers after he discovered where he was.

Setting off on the same path that the unicorn had taken just moments earlier, Harry dug his hand into his pocket to retrieve his wand, only to find it missing.   
Eyes wide, he spun around to try and locate it and dropped to his hands and knees to rummage through the dead leaves. No luck. He must have lost it in the battle.  
Sighing, Harry picked up a small, yet sturdy branch and concluded that if anybody were to attack him, he would simply thrash them upside the head.   
Reluctantly, Harry began his trek.

Considering the circumstances, he could not help but feel relaxed. The forest was so tranquil it seemed surreal; every thing was perfect, quiet, calm. Not one hint of ugliness was noticeable, no fallen trees, no scorch marks, no unpleasant sounds.

Harry discovered naught by following the winding river for several hours, save the consistent hoof prints of the unicorn. Where the bloody hell am I? Harry asked himself and, took a seat on a large boulder where he placed his head in his hands. The birds continued to chirp happily, providing an annoying contrast to Harry’s feelings at the moment.

Head still in hands, Harry’s ears perked at the detection of a new sound. A faint, tuneless humming.   
There was somebody else in the forest. 

Harry grabbed up his thrashing stick, held it like a baseball bat, and proceeded to creep quietly in the direction of the humming. Every footstep produced an audible crunch which made Harry cringe, fearing he would be discovered by the unknown hummer.

He stepped into a clearing; a man stood there with his back to Harry. Ungracefully and producing quite a lot of noise, Harry dashed behind a large tree just as the man spun around. 

“You need not hide. I am well aware of your presence behind that tree,” said the man with an accent Harry recognized as Yorkshire. 

Harry did not move; he simply tightened his grip on his stick.

“Your foot is showing,” said the man after several moments of silence.

Harry closed his eyes tightly, refusing to admit defeat. When he opened them, he found himself face to face with the man. Startled, Harry hit him twice with the thrashing stick. The man yelped in pain and jumped backwards, well out of beating range. 

“Who are you?” Harry shouted, brandishing his stick dangerously. “Where am I? What am I doing here?”

The man regained his composure and – to Harry’s surprise – laughed. He brushed the dirt off his dark red jacket, which was decorated with finely stitched gold thread, and did not reply. Harry seized the opportunity to study the man. He seemed to be in his thirties and contained an appearance, which gave off the feeling that he was bursting with knowledge, much like Dumbledore always had. 

Satisfied that he was clean, the man looked at Harry, obviously amused. “What do you mean by ‘where am I?’ It is rather obvious, is it not?” The man laughed once more and sat down, leaning against a tree.

“Evidently not,” mumbled Harry and changed his grip on his stick, ready for another blow if needed. He was well aware of the advantage he had over the man, who was now staring aimlessly into the distance, humming. He rubbed his side and grimaced as though in pain.

“Look, I’m sorry I hit you,” said Harry and let his stick slip through his fingers and fall to the ground with a dull thud, suddenly missing home. “Could you please tell me where I am? All I want to do is go home to my friends.” His voice caught in his throat when he remembered Ron and Hermione. Did they make it through the battle?

The man looked sadly at Harry and whispered, “You do not know, do you?”

Harry dropped to his knees in front of the man so that they were eye level. “Don’t know what?” 

The man blinked and gazed aimlessly into the distance once more. “That you are dead.”

Harry reeled and placed a hand on a tree trunk to stop himself from falling over. “No,” he breathed. “I can’t be.” His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. He hadn’t defeated Voldemort after all. After every thing he had been through, he had failed.

“I remember the shock of my own death,” said the man, scowling. “Salazar murdered me. Before I could do naught, I woke up here. In that clearing.”

“Salazar?” Harry gazed at the man unfocusedly. “Are you-?”

“Godric Gryffindor,” said the man proudly and stuck out a hand. Harry shook it, dazed. “And who might you be?”

Harry hesitated before answering. “Harry Potter.” He hurriedly added, “Sir.”

Gryffindor smiled then resumed humming. 

“So am I in heaven?” Harry blurted out, then grinned sheepishly.

“I am afraid not,” Gryffindor said, directing his gaze at Harry once more. “This forest is much like the world in between reality and the after life.” He sighed and rested his head upon his knees. “More than one thousand years I have been here, and I have yet to find a way out.”

Instead of the defeated feeling Harry thought he would experience, a feeling of determination fiercely engulfed him. He would find a way out of the forest. There was absolutely no way he would be spending eternity amongst the trees. He would defeat Voldemort. Hastily, he brought himself to his feet, and picked up his trusty thrashing stick.

“I refuse to stay here,” Harry stated firmly. “I’m going to find a way out.”

“You may as well try,” Gryffindor said. He, too, rose to his feet and placed a hand upon Harry’s shoulder. “You never know, you may be luckier than I. Here,” Gryffindor took the branch out of Harry’s hand, who did not protest, and placed a chocolate brown wand in its place. The handle was carefully carved with ‘Gryffindor’ running lengthwise. “I have no use for it.”

Touched, he nodded his thanks and turned to leave. Behind him he could hear Godric Gryffindor resume his tuneless hum.

A mere several paces he had walked when an obscenely loud twisting sound washed over the forest and nearly caused Harry to jump out of his skin. Goose bumps erupted all over his arms, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Harry looked up just in time to see a large tree make its way towards him. 

Blackness took over.

 

Harry, once again, found himself laying flat on his back. And, once again, he opened one eye and then the other. 

“Blimey, he’s awake,” a familiar voice said, causing Harry to start.

Before he could observe his surroundings, a mane of bushy hair obstructed his sight. “Harry,” it sobbed. “We thought you were dead.”

“Hermione,” Ron shouted. “Don’t suffocate him and ruin our happy reunion by killing him.”

Hermione reluctantly let go and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

Harry grinned. He was back. It was all a dream. No forest. No death. No Godric Gryffindor. However, his grin quickly faltered. “What happened?” he asked. “I mean with Voldemort, is he dead?”

Both Ron and Hermione broke into the largest grins Harry had ever seen. “You bet your blooming ass he is,” Ron exclaimed, and ignored Hermione’s hisses of protest. “Naturally, you collapsed after you finished him off.” His tone became serious. “We really thought you were going to die, mate.”

“So did I,” mumbled Harry, and rearranged his face into a smile.

Madame Pomfrey came bustling in out of nowhere and shooed Ron and Hermione out of the hospital wing before they could question Harry any further.

Harry shifted in his bed, but winced when something poked his thigh. Reaching under the covers, Harry pulled out a wand. His heart skipped a beat. The wand was chocolate coloured and had ‘Gryffindor’ carved down the side in fancy lettering.

Leaning back onto his pillow, he started a tuneless hum. 

He truly was the Boy Who Lived.


End file.
